


This Is Not An Exit

by chapelwaite



Category: MASH (TV)
Genre: Canon-Typical Behavior, Character Death But It Turns Out Fine, Cut off from Earth, Eventual Scraps of Hunnihawk, Gen, Inspired by The Twilight Zone, M/M, Psychic Abilities, somewhat happy ending, takes place sometime in season 4-5, that means Canon-Typical Jokes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-08
Updated: 2020-11-08
Packaged: 2021-03-09 05:09:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,090
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27465463
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chapelwaite/pseuds/chapelwaite
Summary: By now, Hawkeye's used to Korea being bizarre, terrible, and every other synonym imaginable. But Lieutenant Charlie Briggs' concussion is another thing altogether, especially when he starts to show psychic symptoms. There isn't anything in the sane world that could possibly explain it... but the 4077th MASH has slipped into the shadow of unreality: the Twilight Zone.
Comments: 9
Kudos: 6





	This Is Not An Exit

**Author's Note:**

> This is inspired by the episode "It's a Good Life," but you don't need any knowledge of that to read this. See also LittleBuddy's fic [When in Limbo.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27706795/chapters/67810636)

Early morning, spring. A cool mist hung in the air, but warm rays of sunshine began to melt it all away as the sun climbed over the hills. The guard shift changed, the kitchen warmed up its burners, and everything began its daily grind into motion.

As the camp woke up around him, Hawkeye dozed, trying to stay as cozy as his cot would allow. His thrumming nerves prevented him from slipping back into full unconsciousness, but he wanted to pretend he was asleep. Not that his being asleep ever stopped anyone from bothering him— but being half-awake was better than being fully awake.

He was only disturbed a little bit when the door to the Swamp opened. It was BJ, coming home after a shift; Hawkeye knew the pattern of his footsteps as well as he knew his own. He heard BJ pause by his cot, as if wanting to wake him. Part of Hawkeye wanted to save the trouble and get up, and part of him wanted just as much for him to go away.

It didn’t matter, because BJ touched his shoulder, pulling him out of half-consciousness. “Hawkeye.”

Hawkeye groaned, playing up the agony, and without opening his eyes he said, “BJ, if this isn’t important, I’m going to bury your boots in the latrine.”

“It’s important,” BJ said, in a quiet, serious tone of voice.

Hawkeye opened both eyes just a bit and tried to focus. BJ looked troubled, which wasn’t exactly a new look for him. But something about his expression made Hawk blink and prop himself up on his arms. “What? What is it?”

BJ looked over his shoulder. Frank seemed sound asleep in the other bunk, but looks could be deceiving. BJ crouched by the side of Hawkeye’s cot and leaned in, lowering his voice.

“Remember Lieutenant Briggs?”

Hawkeye nodded. “Yeah. Is he okay, or—?”

“No, he’s okay,” BJ said quickly. “Uh, you could say that him being okay is part of the problem.”

Hawkeye let out a short, quiet laugh. “Since when was patient recovery a problem?”

“He’s _awake,_ Hawk. And something’s… different about him.”

This made him pause. Charlie Briggs had come in totally unconscious yesterday, suffering from a nasty concussion. They hadn’t been expecting him to wake up again for three days at least. Well, so be it— a medical miracle right here in South Korea. Maybe the kid was an exceptional patient, and just needed time to put all of his pieces back together.

“That’s not out of the ordinary, BJ,” Hawkeye murmured, sitting up further as BJ shifted to give him more space. “The amount of kids who come in here a different person than they were in the field, especially when they’ve got an injury like that...”

He trailed off as BJ just looked at him without saying anything. Suddenly it struck Hawkeye that BJ looked scared. Whenever BJ looked that scared, that meant there really was something wrong. Hawkeye’s heart faltered in his chest.

“No,” BJ said, voice low and controlled. “Something’s _different._ I can’t explain it. You’d better come take a look at him to see what I mean.”

Hawkeye blinked. A nervous twinge passed through his stomach, but he nodded.

“Okay. Let’s go see patient zero,” he said, and started pulling on his boots.

He became aware of it as he approached Briggs’ hospital bed. Something in the atmosphere, like electricity or ozone. He managed not to stop in his tracks, but he had to fight to keep walking down the row of cots. The hairs on the back of his neck seemed about to jump ship.

Hawkeye and BJ stopped at the foot of his cot, and Hawkeye made a show of looking at his medical chart. His heart was thudding in his temples and his mouth felt like he hadn’t had anything to drink in days.

“How’re you feeling, Lieutenant?” he managed to say with a quick smile. When he looked up, Briggs was staring at him. The lieutenant’s eyes were such a light blue that he seemed to barely have irises at all. His pupils were the darkest thing in his pale face, and they were barely pinpricks. Hawkeye felt them boring into him, and he suddenly noticed a peculiar sensation of being watched from behind as well as from the front. BJ was right; this was pretty far from the thousand-yard stare.

Briggs didn’t answer him for a few long seconds. Finally he blinked, and the pressure around him lessened a touch. “I feel okay, Doc,” he said. “Am I gonna _be_ okay?”

Hawkeye glanced down at the medical chart again. “As long as you don’t have any plans to go bungee jumping in the near future, I’d say you’ll be fine.”

Briggs smiled briefly, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “You’re a little afraid of me, aren’t you?”

The kid was perceptive, that much was certain. “Now what makes you say that?” Hawkeye asked, trying to maintain his casual facade.

“I can tell.” The lieutenant’s eyes slid away, and he furrowed his brow. “I don’t know _how_ , but I can tell.”

BJ jumped in. “We’re afraid _for_ you, Charlie, that’s all. You woke up much earlier than we anticipated and we’re still not entirely sure why. You should have stayed asleep for another few days after an injury like that.” 

Hawkeye was about to thank whoever was up there for BJ’s diplomatic skills, but Briggs’ face didn’t change.

“I… _know,”_ he said slowly, “that you’re afraid of me. I know you think I’m different… and that there’s something not right with me.” He looked at BJ. “It’s not just a— a feeling _,_ I mean I’m _really_ certain. Like how I know we’re in Korea right now.”

BJ shifted uncomfortably, but his face was neutral when Hawkeye glanced over. He didn’t seem to know what to say. Somebody had to say something.

“We’re in Korea? I could have sworn this was California,” Hawkeye blurted out. It did nothing to ease the tension, but BJ seemed grateful at the attempt. “Uh… Get some rest. Someone will be back to check on you.”

Briggs looked like he wanted to say something else, but he didn’t push it. He nodded as much as his prone position would allow and shifted to stare at the ceiling.

Hawkeye and BJ moved through the curtain and stepped outside. Hawk let out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding and said, “You could have at least warned me that the air in there was thick enough to spread on toast.”

“It wasn’t that bad before,” BJ said mildly. “If I had known, I would’ve brought a butter knife.”

Hawkeye stopped and wheeled to face him. “Beej, what _was_ that? I felt like a butterfly pinned on a corkboard.”

“I don’t know,” BJ answered. He shrugged and raised his eyebrows. “I really wish I could tell you, Hawk. I just don’t know.”

Hawkeye put his hands on his hips and stared out across the compound. His heart and mind were both racing— the latter trying to think of an explanation, and the former trying to keep up. “What, so, a kid wakes up early from a head injury and then he’s— he— he can read minds or something? Is that it?”

“If it is... something like that may as well happen here,” BJ said.

That was an unsatisfactory answer, and Hawkeye suspected that BJ knew it. But what other answer was there? They weren’t neurologists. They only knew enough about the human brain to recognize and fix a concussion or an aneurysm. Maybe this really could happen. As they’d all been learning the hard way, people were capable of things no man had ever dreamed of.

“Whatever the cause, I didn’t enjoy the feeling, and I certainly don’t enjoy _remembering_ the feeling,” Hawkeye muttered. “I need a drink.”

“At seven in the morning?” BJ asked. “That’s a little late for you.”

They both chuckled humorlessly. Hawkeye patted BJ’s upper arm and said, “I’ll be back in a few hours for my shift. Watch out in there.”

BJ nodded, and they separated.

Hawkeye stared at the tent ceiling, balancing a martini glass on his thigh. The way Lieutenant Briggs was acting wasn’t the problem— it was the _energy_ he was giving off. Hawkeye knew when to trust his gut and his gut was telling him that something was up with the kid _._ Not inherently _bad_ , but definitely wrong. He’d felt like his thoughts had been laid bare out in the open, spread-eagled like a ribcage in surgery. It frightened him.

He almost didn’t hear Frank barge into the Swamp. The door slapped shut behind the major and he snapped, “Look alive, why don’t you.”

“I have the right to remain horizontal,” Hawkeye replied evenly.

Frank sputtered and said something about how Hawkeye was a good-for-nothing twerp. Hawk let it roll over him and returned to his thoughts as Frank sat down to write a letter.

So Briggs could be psychic or something. Maybe something in the field knocked two things in his brain together— made a connection where there typically wasn’t one. But Radar was similar—it was an open secret—and _he_ didn’t carry a cloud of static around wherever he went. Briggs’ head must have crashed pretty hard into itself. Would it stop there, or would it keep getting worse?

Frank put his pen down. “What’s the matter with you?”

Hawkeye tilted his head and leaned over. “Besides being in Korea during a war?”

“I’ve been in here five minutes already and you’ve barely made a snide comment.” Frank almost sounded offended by the lack of offense.

“I only get paid by the hour,” Hawkeye said. “Look, nothing’s the matter, I just don’t feel like ripping on you right now. Think of it as a favor, all right? I’ve got something else on my mind. And don’t ask what it is.”

There was a heavy, expectant pause. Hawkeye closed his eyes in exasperation, regretting his choice of words. “It’s about a patient.”

“A patient?” Frank paused to rack his brain. “Lieutenant Briggs?”

“Yeah. How’d you know?”

“He gives me the creeps.” Frank huffed. “There’s something I don’t like about him. I just can’t put my finger on it. There’s nothing in his file, there aren’t any… _tendencies_ that I can figure out. I just don’t like it. And you know me— usually I have a perfectly reasonable reason to dislike somebody.”

Hawkeye couldn’t believe what he was hearing. He took hold of his martini glass and sat up, looking at Frank incredulously. “Frank, I think that’s the first time we’ve ever agreed on something.”

Frank perked up slightly. “You agree with me?”

“As much as I hate to say it again, or even once, yes,” Hawkeye said. “If even _you_ could sense the fact that there’s something wrong about him, then that must mean BJ and I aren’t going crazy out here after all.”

“Well, what— what— what is it? What’s the problem?”

“That’s what I’ve been trying to figure out,” Hawkeye said, trying to be patient. If Frank was on his side, even temporarily, that was one less thing to worry about. Having this situation blow up on his face was the last thing he needed. “It’s something about his concussion. It _did_ something to him. BJ was the first to notice, but by now I think just about everybody’s heard about it. I hesitate to call him _psychic,_ but I think he’s somehow running on more cylinders than the rest of us.”

They sat in silence for a few moments. Hawkeye could practically hear the gears turning in Frank’s head, and wondered if he’d given too much information.

“Well,” Frank finally said, “what do we do with him? I mean, there’s obviously something wrong with him. I think we should send him to Tokyo.”

Hawkeye swirled the gin in his glass. “I think we should continue treating him,” he replied, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. Because, in a way, it was.

Frank wasted no time being outraged. “What? Pierce, you can’t be serious! We don’t know what he’s capable of! If— if he’s got— _mind powers_ he could have given all our top secrets away to the Reds by now!”

So much for agreement. “Frank, he’s a second lieutenant, he barely even knows we _have_ top secrets,” Hawkeye said. “And besides, he seems like a decent kid. I don’t even think _he_ knows what he’s capable of. Look, for— for crying out loud, he’s still recovering! I won’t let you dump an injured soldier on the side of the road because he gives us the willies.”

This speech did little to placate Frank, who stood up. “Look, mister, we both know that he’s some kind of a freak,” he said furiously, “and I will _not_ allow him to continue fouling up this MASH any longer. I’m going to call a helicopter to take him to Tokyo, and I don’t care whether he goes to a hospital or a funny farm.”

“Frank, you—“

Hawkeye’s words hit empty air. The door hit the outside of the tent as Frank stormed off to the company office. It didn’t have time to close before Radar burst into the Swamp.

“Cap’n Pierce, you better come, it’s Lieutenant Briggs—“

Radar didn’t even have to finish the sentence before Hawkeye scrambled up from his cot, spilling gin all over the floor.

“I can’t do it anymore— I’m sick of it, I’m so sick of it, _Jesus—_ ”

Hawkeye could hear Briggs from outside post-op. The lieutenant was fighting against BJ and Nurse Kellye, who were both trying to pin him down to his bed. Briggs was shouting, wordless yells mixed in with disjointed frantic phrases. The air hung heavy and oppressive, like the atmosphere before a bad thunderstorm.

“Let me go— I have to get out of here— I can’t do it, I can’t—”

“Kellye, didn’t you give him a sedative?” Hawkeye shouted, running to the bedside.

“Yes, Doctor, but it didn’t take!” Kellye managed to say as she tried to control Briggs’ flailing arms.

Hawkeye slipped around to the head of the cot and tried to take the lieutenant’s head in his hands. “Charlie? Charlie, hey, will you listen to me?” 

Briggs continued to thrash, and his voice rose to a scream. “Gotta get out— make it stop— this goddamn war, I can’t _take_ it anymore!” He locked eyes with Hawkeye. His pupils were so huge they seemed to take up his whole face. 

“Get me _out!"_

Pain stabbed through Hawkeye’s skull. Everything tilted and _shifted_. He couldn’t move, couldn’t look away, but he was sure that something was changing. He gripped the lieutenant’s head because it was the only thing keeping him from losing balance completely. It felt like everything was made of wax and Briggs had exposed it all to flame. Hawkeye rolled sickly, fighting to keep vertigo from washing over him and pulling him under.

And then it was over. The air cleared. Briggs went limp and his eyes unfocused, and he relaxed into unconsciousness.

Hawkeye realized he was breathing hard. He slowly let go of the lieutenant’s head and straightened up, looking at his colleagues. BJ’s brow was furrowed and Kellye’s mouth was slightly open, but neither one of them appeared to have experienced the same assault on their senses.

“I assume no one else felt that?” Hawkeye asked, voice low.

BJ looked at him and shook his head slightly. “You okay, Hawk?”

“Yeah, yeah, I just… feel like somebody took a nutcracker to the old noggin,” said Hawkeye. “I’ve had worse hangovers, but not by much. Ugh...” He squeezed his eyes shut and rubbed his temples. A nasty headache was taking up residency in his forehead. He stumbled into BJ’s supportive arm. “That kid’s got enough juice in his brain to power a small city.”

At that moment, Radar pushed through the double doors, obviously dazed. “Hey… somethin’ happened,” he mumbled. “Everything went all weird for a second…”

Hawkeye looked up and stepped away from BJ. “You felt like the world was coming apart at the seams, too?”

“Uh, I dunno about that, sir, but my vision went all fuzzy and I felt like I was gonna faint,” Radar said, blinking. “It’s getting better now, but boy...”

“BJ, check him out, but I don’t know if you’ll find anything. I have a feeling it’s a mild case of… disaster-itis,” Hawkeye managed. “Whatever that was, I’m not surprised that he was sensitive to it. Kellye… keep an eye on Briggs. Get me the minute he comes back around.”

“Hawkeye... what _happened?_ ” Kellye asked, face clouded with worry.

“Either he just did _something_ with his mind, or I can finally apply for a Section 8. Maybe even both.” His headache was settling into a low-grade throbbing. “Radar, after BJ’s done with you, I’d like you to call around for a neurologist.”

“Sure thing, sir.”

“Okay. I’ll be waiting in your office. I have a feeling I’m going to intercept Frank there.”

“Sorry to hear it,” BJ quipped, but his facial expression didn’t reflect the humor. Hawkeye patted him and Kellye on the shoulders before he left.

When Hawkeye entered the clerk’s office, Frank was sitting at Radar’s desk in a tangle of wires.

“Ah, Frank, I see you’ve taken up knitting,” Hawkeye said, putting his hands in his pockets. “Would you be so kind as to make me something? I’m in desperate need of a new hat.”

“Oh, just shut up, you rat,” Frank spat halfheartedly, flipping switches on the switchboard. “I was calling for a helicopter and the line went dead. I’m attempting to reestablish contact.”

“If you continue like that, you’re gonna end up broadcasting yourself over the loudspeakers at Grand Central Station,” Hawkeye said. He nudged Frank’s shoulder. “Move over.”

Frank shot him a look, but he stood up nonetheless. “I didn’t know you knew how to work this thing.”

“How else am I supposed to eavesdrop?” Hawkeye muttered, getting himself situated. He didn’t really know how to use the radio, but he could at least try to reverse the damage Frank had done. He adjusted the switches as best he knew how, and began twisting the dial. After checking the entire bandwidth and not hearing even a tiny burst of static through the headset, he said, “Well, for once, you didn’t make anything worse.”

Frank bristled momentarily, then realized what that meant. “I didn’t break it?”

“No, unless you figured out how to destroy radio towers by remote control. I think the line is down.” This had happened before, and it was usually fixed within a couple of days. It was nerve-wracking under normal circumstances, but Hawkeye’s headache served as a reminder that things were very abnormal. Fortunately, Radar came through the door, stopping short as he saw that Hawkeye and Frank were both still there.

“Just in time, Radar. How are you feeling?” Hawkeye asked, standing to let the corporal take a seat.

“Oh, fine, sir, thanks,” Radar said gratefully as he sat down. “There’s nothin’ wrong with me. Captain Hunnicutt said that… uh…” He suddenly became aware of Frank’s presence, and seemed to understand that it would be best to fib a little. “That maybe I just got a little overexcited about something.”

“Fine. I’m glad nothing’s wrong, cause we need your help,” said Hawkeye. 

“We think the line is down,” Frank interjected.

“Hold your horses, Thomas Edison, _I_ thought of it first,” Hawkeye said, raising a hand. He turned his attention back to Radar. “Is there anything we can do about it?”

“Uh…” The corporal had the headset on and was twiddling the dial, trying to find a signal. “Not from here, sir. Our little receiver’s okay. There's a big one a couple miles down the road that, uh, helps the radio waves get to where they gotta go. It must’ve got damaged or something, so you're gonna have to send somebody out to see what the trouble is.”

“See, Frank? You really didn’t break it,” Hawkeye said with raised eyebrows. “Radar, I’d like to go with you in a Jeep to get to the bottom of things. Oh, uh— better tell Colonel Potter first.”

“Yes, sir,” Radar said, quickly disentangling himself from the radio and pushing through the colonel’s double doors.

Satisfied to be finally doing something, Hawkeye returned his attention to Frank, who was standing with his hands in his pockets and a pinched expression on his face. “Upset that your plot was foiled, Major?”

“Oh, they heard me,” replied Frank. “You’ll see. I bet there’ll be a helicopter here within ten minutes. Briggs is fit to travel and I want him out of here.”

“Your idea of ‘fit to travel’ is anyone who’s this side of a corpse,” Hawkeye said, raising his voice. “I almost don’t _want_ to repair the phone lines, because I know that after all this is over, you’ll be calling up the ladder so fast you’ll get splinters.”

Frank blanched, trying to come up with a retort, but Radar came back out. “All clear, sir, as long as we don’t take too long.”

“Lead on, Sancho,” Hawkeye said in a comically deepe voice, gesturing for Radar to leave first. He raised his eyebrows at Frank before following closely behind, leaving the major to fume in the office.

“Everybody buckled in?” Hawkeye asked, sliding into the driver’s seat. Radar adjusted his hat and offered a nervous half-smile. 

BJ stood to the side with his hands in his pockets. Hawk met his eye. He knew that BJ wanted to hear about what exactly had happened in post-op, but it would have to wait. The radio being down was making him antsy, and him being antsy was never conducive to serious conversation.

Even though neither of them spoke a word, this understanding seemed to pass between them. BJ smiled slightly and stepped away from the Jeep.

“Bring me back a souvenir,” he said. He was trying a little too hard to keep the mood light.

Hawkeye nodded, and responded gently, “I’ll be sure to check the gift shop.”

He depressed the clutch and the brake, turned the ignition, and gave a mock salute before starting away from the camp.

The first minute or two were mostly smooth sailing, but eventually they reached pothole-littered dirt. Hawkeye wasn’t the gentlest driver on a good day, and now the Jeep bucked and rattled under his influence. Radar fumbled around for something to hold onto and shouted, “The big receiver is only a little further!”

Hawk didn’t respond. He was too busy white-knuckling the steering wheel. Hills rose up on either side, growing taller as they passed. 

As he drove further down the road a sense of dread was progressively creeping up on him. Now he felt it wash over him in full force, and he wanted so badly to pull over—but he didn’t get the chance. 

Around the next corner, at the start of a tree tunnel, the road dropped off in a sheer cliff.

He slammed the brake. The car squealed to a stop a couple feet from the edge.

The engine idled as Hawkeye sat motionless, eyes wide with panic. Radar moved first, scrambling out of the Jeep and moving towards the rear wheels.

“Hawkeye?” he asked, so quietly it almost couldn’t be heard. “Hawkeye, what— what is that?”

Hawk exhaled and released his grip on the wheel, sliding out of the car. He walked, step by step, as close to the edge as he dared, and leaned over. The blue sky yawned ahead and below, stretching down, down further than he’d ever seen, and there seemed to be no end. At any rate, he couldn’t see where it ended without risking a fall. The thought made him dizzy, and he backed away, looking around.

The trees were too densely packed on either side of the road to see anything but flashes of sky, and small hills bordered the tree cover. He couldn’t tell if it was just the road or the whole world that fell away into nothingness. But something told him that it wasn’t just the road. Something told him that everything had been sheared away and there was no going forward at all.

He turned around to see Radar cowering beside the Jeep. What was there to say?

“Radar,” he murmured, unable to keep a tremble out of his voice, “I don’t think we’re in Kansas anymore."


End file.
